


Hellen of Troy

by orphan_account



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Ancient Greece, Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), F/M, M/M, Sex Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-30 11:37:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20096641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Can Aziraphale stop the Trojan War?Or will he make matters worse?





	Hellen of Troy

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I've written since about 2012 and I'm rusty as heck so apologies. I was bullied into writing again by Hiddenlacuna. She did at least redeem herself by betaing is for me.
> 
> I had big plans for researching the history behind this. But then I didn't. So please, if you're into classics or ancient history, please don't read this because it is not in anyway historically or even geographically accurate.

There's something wrong with the city.

Aziraphale can sense it as soon as he steps from the passenger ship onto the jetty. The air seems to vibrate around the people working on the dockside. Sharp words. Heightened tensions. 

'Just sort it out' they'd said. 'Go to Sparta. Smooth things over.' Typical of heaven to leave out the useful details. He didn't need details to see something was desperately wrong in this place. 

He left the industrious energy of the docks, making his way down the narrow streets, twisting and turning towards the citadel. In doorways, couples rutted against each other shamelessly. Children ran in clusters, chasing wailing cats or each other. Smooth things over. Sort it out. 

In the burning heat of the afternoon, Aziraphale breached the high walls of the citadel.

The underlying wrongness that lay over the city like a blanket was there too, but stronger, intoxicating and powerful. He followed it through the marble-floored corridors, finally reaching an opulent door of beaten bronze where the sensation was so strong his body couldn't help but react. Desire. Rolling out of the locked door in waves. Suddenly an effort was no effort at all. 

No response came from his knocking. "Look, I really must speak with you as a matter of some urgency!" 

A click as the lock released, silence. After a moment, Aziraphale opened the door. The room was vast and swathed in linens. A wide balcony looked out over the city and to the waters beyond. A woman gazed out, ignoring Aziraphale entirely. She was lithe, uncommonly tall and draped in black. Golden snakes decorated her arms and flame red curls fell freely over her back and shoulders. 

"What took you so long?" she said, turning to face him with a slow and wicked smile. A smile he knew. Had known for millennia. 

"Crowley! What on earth are you... This is... New." 

"Yes. I got so bored; needed a little fun. Think I've got a commendation in the pipeline! Have some wine, won't you? I haven't seen you in... Oh, two hundred years?" 

"So long?" The words felt thick and left Aziraphale's mouth dry. He took the wine and drained the cup in long, hurried pulls. 

Crowley glided around him, sinuous hips casting figures of eight through the air. "A few little tweaks make such a difference, don't you think?" long fingers tracing paths across Aziraphale's shoulders, up into his hair. "Got married, became a queen. It was fun for a while but now I make my own fun."

Flustered, Aziraphale remembered his mission. "Well, you can't... Not anymore. You have to leave Greece alone!" 

Crowley stood before him, eyes locked on his, gold and full of mischief, "Drink with me. Drink with me tonight and we'll leave tomorrow. Deal?" 

"How are you doing this?" The air was still vibrating around them, powerful and oppressive and thick. Before, his focus had held on by a thread but the wine had snapped it and he was in free fall. 

"Shhh, it's just a bit of fun."

Aziraphale's skin prickled beneath his robes. 

Crowley reached for a gold clasp at her shoulder, a snake with burning sapphire eyes, letting black robes fall at her feet. 

Aziraphale couldn't think. He took in the sight of her, soft breasts golden in the evening light, pale abdomen, and the gentle curve of her thighs framing a thicket of flaming curls.

"Don't you want to just have a little fun sometimes?" 

'Just sort it out' they said. 'smooth it over'. 

"You'll leave with me, tomorrow?" 

"I'll leave with you if you stay here tonight." 

Aziraphale sank to his knees before Crowley. She ran her fingers through his curls, tipping his head back, cradling him, fixing her eyes on his as she stepped above him. 

His lips parted her soft folds, submitting to her and the waves of energy that undulated out of her. The last two centuries had been boring without Crowley around. And he wasn't strictly disobeying orders.


End file.
